Cordiality
by hyacinthian
Summary: Even if she wasn’t going to be his, he could at least pretend she was. If only for one dance. [GSR]


Title: Cordiality

Author: ScarlettMithruiel

Classification: A, R (GSR)

Rating: PG? PG-13? Usually nothing stronger.

Disclaimer: I swear on both Starbucks and Dunkin' Donuts Coffee (gasp!) that this is not mine.

Summary: Even if she wasn't going to be his, he could at least pretend she was. If only for one dance.

Author's Note: Hey, guys! This is my _first _ever CSI fic. Aren't you so proud of me? God, I'm progressing, eh? Anyway, if it's good, please leave a review. If it's bad, just blame the plot bunny on your left and the random book of love quotations on your right. . Try and leave constructive criticism. It might be horribly horribly OOC. I tend to do that. Anyway, please try to enjoy it.

_Dedicated to Leslie, for betaing and pushing me to CSI. Thank you, thank you, thank you, and lotsa love. ;-)_

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"**_To cheat oneself out of love is the most terrible deception; it is an eternal loss for which there is no reparation, either in time or in eternity." _**–_Soren Kierkegaard _

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He heard it before he could see it. Ironic, considering his own need for reparable surgery. He could hear the flutter of letters from the postman's hand as they dropped the few inches into the mailbox. He heard the clang as the lid fell against the top. He heard the postman's cheerful whistling as he walked toward the next house. He opened his front door and retrieved the letters. Sifting through them, separating bills from personal letters, he fell upon it. The dreaded letter. He mentally snorted at the thought of villifying a letter. What good was that? It wasn't living. It couldn't do anything to you. Somehow, he felt as if the letter still provoked him. He pulled it out of the scant pile of personal letters.

He stared at it with his patented stare, as if trying to catalogue it in some far corner of his mind. It still made no movement. He lifted the envelope, weighing it in his hand, his skin tingling at the texture of the costly parchment. He perused the envelope. The front had his name beautifully written in formal calligraphy and the back had a shiny, brand new gold seal. As if willing himself not to shake or show any emotion, he deftly slid his index finger under the gold seal, and felt a rush of pride and anxiety at the sound it made. The envelope flap was loose now. He lifted the flap and removed the contents. A single rectangular card…with the same, textured, expensive parchment.

His eyes flicked quickly from left to right as he read the first line. "You are cordially invited." He felt his heart plummet, but ignored the feeling. _ It will go away_. His mental reassurances could not assuage any semblance of anxiety. He sighed audibly, as if the physical sound could will him to calm down. What did he think it was going to say? "We regret to inform you?" He shook his head and his melancholy blue eyes quickly scanned the rest of the card.

This was it. This was his goal. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Goal wasn't the right word. He wasn't trying to get Sara to leave him. He just wanted her to be happy. He clenched and unclenched his jaw in a random permutation. His defense mechanism screamed at him to analyze the mathematical anomaly, to distract himself from the distant pain that was beginning to register in the hollow of his chest. _She'll be happier this way_.

His face set in a grim expression. He repeated his mantra in his head. _She'll be happier this way. She'll be happier this way. It'll be better for her. _ When that didn't work, he began to list off all insects and arachnids he could remember, by their scientific names. He silently hoped that binomial nomenclature would distract him. It didn't. He wanted her for himself. That was the truth and he'd have to face it.

Selfishly, he had wanted her for him. Just him. He wanted to be the one to see her, a heavenly vision in pure white, in her wedding gown. He wanted that image of her imprinted in _his _brain, and no one else's. He had fantasies of little children with brown hair and blue eyes, running around a yard in Las Vegas, with Sara and he seated together on a porch swing, smiling and happy. He wanted it all. But he had forced himself into societal norm. He had convinced himself it would be better for her to move on. How embittered his mind and his heart were on that issue.

He knew that she had feelings for him. Maybe she even loved him…and he loved her. God, how couldn't he? She seemed so perfect to him, yet so human. Almost like how he had felt as a seven-year-old, futilely reaching out for the moon from his window. She was the moon. But this time, he could reach her. And he was stopping himself. He had to sacrifice. He glanced again at the formal gold lettering. He supposed he should RSVP now.

He had to be there for her. He had to support her in this decision. At least at the wedding, he could dance with her and fulfill a little of that fantasy. Perhaps for a three-to-four minute time span, he could pretend she was his, nestled perfectly in his arms, her neck tucked into the crook of his shoulder. Even if she wasn't going to be his, he could at least pretend she was. If only for one dance.


End file.
